Fuck Aging Gracefully

Do it however you want, friend.

Seems like 58 years, feels like 58 seconds?

“Fuck aging gracefully.”

Nat said this.

She’s the morning manager at my health club (yes, I go to a health club now instead of a gym and it’s still weird to me but I am enjoying it).

Nat is the bubbly and helpful person you need at 5:30 am. When she’s at the desk, the good towels are stacked up and my preferred locker key is waiting on the desktop. Sometimes, this is all I need in life.

This is not me or my club but hey a girl can dream.

Why She Said It

I had finished my morning swim and was on the way out the door at 0630 hours when Nat complimented my new reddish hair — a return to my pre-2020 roots. (Or not roots. Those still come up a light brown.)

She too had recently experimented with color to cover up some grey — and Nat was enjoying looking younger.

I tried to place her age. Maybe 45 but bubbly often hides a good decade or so. (I know this as a member of the “Ohmygod, you don’t look X age” club for my entire life. Optimism can act like skin and time forgiveness. Spirit retinol, if you will.)

True for you, too?

She Got Me Thinking

As I drove away into the Seattle sunshine (Surprise! We have that here even if all you ever hear about it is rain), Nat’s words played in the 8-track of my mind.

Anyone remember these?

Fuck aging gracefully.

Or is it:

Fuck! Aging gracefully. 😬

OR maybe:

Fuck.aging.gracefully.

I kind of like that last one. The emphasis. The mood. The defiance.

Let’s ride, girls.

But then we all know I never have been one to play well with the role society hands me.

Our patriarchal society, that is.

Can we all agree on this?

What About a Matriarchy?

But I might not be good with whatever a matriarchal society handed me either. (I do like to dream about a matriarchal society. I grew up in a matriarchy and loved it. 6 strong women, 1 gentle and kind man. What’s not to love? It was quite disconcerting to learn that the rest of the U.S. is not this way.)

But I figure a matriarchy in an unevolved society might be as prescriptive as this patriarchy has been to all of us. “This is your role and you need to go live it. GET IN LINE OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.”

Gulp.

Not Like the Others

Because let’s face it: I’m not a natural mom in the “Have an orange slice, honey” kind of way.

• I don’t sew anything but errant buttons.

• I sometimes forget that I have kids. (Just once in a while. Usually while deadlifting.)

• My cooking skills are best described as utilitarian (nobody gets food poisoning).

• I no longer own a dress, heels, or underwire bras.

• I’ve never been photographed in a sundress — and my current idea of “fancy” is a blazer and a bow tie.

Often, I don’t fit in anywhere and I’ve learned to be okay with that.

I only expect my orneriness will increase with my age. It’s been gathering force for decades now (heck, I wrote One Woman’s Manifesto in 2011) and what’s in Lisbeth motion always seems to gain speed and velocity. (My poor kids.)

Back to My Point

Fuck.aging.gracefully.

Really. Our society has handed women a bunch of made-up rules about how we should behave at every age — and it’s all so moronic. Wear your hair THIS WAY after age 50. Adopt cruise wear. Sit down and shut up. Fade off and die.

And who gets to make these rules? Other people. Nobody ever calls us for new rules, do they? (It’s so whacked that we pay attention to rules. Remember, everyone is winging it.)

So even though it’s been fun to be a redhead again for a month, l will probably return to my natural hair color.

In a meeting at my day job … and taking a selfie.

It’s not that I don’t dig the red (it’s the natural color of my daughter’s hair) but I realized after a week or two that I don’t need that shade of red. I don’t have a deep longing to hold off the white hair, the loss of pigmentation, a life well-lived showing itself off. (And I like that shock of white hair that will come in near my forehead.)

I only have a deep longing to retain the ornery me, to not give in, to not acquiesce, to not surrender to what I should do in this life … to not be who someone else tells me I should be.

And, honestly, neither should you.

Both of us should hold out for our true selves like the badass motherfuckers we are.

Be my Thelma and I’ll be your Louise.

I asked AI for Thelma & Louise. I honestly don’t know how either one of them is going to drive that car. Also, this looks painful.

Second Acts Can Be Kick-ass

While we’re on this topic, here’s a great column I read the other day.

Hot Menopausal Woman Summer

It’s by Shannon Watts (who started Moms Demand Action) — and her post was about second acts — the life you live after you live the life society told you to live. (Read Second Lives for my take on this journey.)

Which leads me to …